


flower tea

by auvelli



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, miya atsumu was sad, or at least getting together vibes, sakusa just wanted to get hand soap, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auvelli/pseuds/auvelli
Summary: Epiphanies and revelations were reserved for scenic sunrises or nights under the stars with a chilly breeze against the skin. Most certainly not for under the melancholy clouds and unrelenting rain.(aka Sakusa finds Atsumu sulking in the pouring rain and unknowingly lets him a little farther into his life than intended)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 305





	flower tea

**Author's Note:**

> hello !
> 
> today the chef offers another sentimental sakuatsu one shot. just a little something i wrote for fun and honestly kinda as an experiment.
> 
> please enjoy

It’s the necessity of hand soap that pulls Sakusa Kiyoomi into the pouring rain against his wishes.  _ Careless _ \- is what he thinks he must have been during his last trip to the store, as it warranted the horror that was discovering his automatic soap dispenser (a kind and thoughtful moving gift from his older sister a few years back) had been depleted and he possessed nothing to refill it with. 

Rain is public enemy #1 in Sakusa’s eyes. Cold  _ and  _ wet. The two biggest precipitates of the common cold - a nuisance he need not be placed on his shoulders for the better sake of his own convenience. But - layered in a turtleneck, pullover hoodie, and finally a raincoat - he finds himself braving the dangers regardless, for he determines his issue of hand soap much more pressing. 

Unexpected is the untasteful head of dyed blond hair leaned over on a painted white park bench on his walk back to his apartment. Perhaps even more unexpected is his lack of outer gear, adorning merely jeans and a black t-shirt that have been just as thoroughly soaked as his hair in the unrelenting downpour. Sakusa - who’s standing under the comfort of an umbrella that could easily fit another person or two without bumping elbows - stops in curiosity. 

He analyzes it - Miya Atsumu, that is. His initial thought;  _ what a fool,  _ leaving himself exposed to such conditions. Sakusa has the brief vision of his teammates informing him that the aforementioned setter had to skip practice due to illness. Though it would not be the end of the world - their second string setter is competent but not nearly as adaptable as Atsumu, which would therefore interfere with his spiking which would therefore become an inconvenience. 

As much as he prefers to maintain his wall of indifference up to the blond (for more reasons than one), he could potentially prevent such a sickness by offering refuge. Would that be preferred to a practice or two without him, though? As it comes with the implication that he’d be willingly inviting the blond into his apartment - the space he so meticulously preserves. 

He takes another look, still stopped on the sidewalk. Streams of rain water run off the strands of the bleached locks, his elbows meet his knees, hands covering the face - he is clearly sulking, who  _ knows  _ over what this time, but it’s obvious in his demeanor. Sakusa takes a deep breath, stepping closer, and exhales away his resentment with a final decision to do something decent for once. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, the words familiar upon his tongue. 

Sakusa briefly wonders if the rain drowned out his voice - or if Atsumu had chosen to ignore him, for he stays statue still upon the bench. 

“Miya.” 

The blond jumps at the sound of his name, back straightening and head lifting. And seeing his expression now, Sakusa knows he’s not sulking, no. The swell of his eyes, the sunken bags and pinched brows. 

He’s  _ grieving.  _

“Omi-kun? What- what are you doing?” His voice sounds the weakest Sakusa has ever heard it, pained and distant despite only being a few feet apart. Perhaps one damaged by violent sobs and screams. 

“I just asked you the same thing.”

Atsumu doesn’t respond. He looks around like he’s searching for an answer, but no words come. 

“You’re going to get sick, follow me,” Sakusa says with an involuntary sigh. 

In his head, he imagined proposing the option as much more of a question than an obligation, but distantly, as Atsumu huddles under the umbrella while still maintaining his distance, he decides that this was likely the better option. 

He runs Atsumu a hot shower, offers him a pair of old sweats and a loose shirt, pours him a cup of tea, gives him - against his will, but out of the kindness of his heart - one of his best blankets and allows him to rest on the couch. 

During the entirety of these interactions, they do not speak. There are two likely answers to why this is. 

1, Miya Atsumu does not want to talk, or 2, Sakusa Kiyoomi does not want to know. 

(One, or both of these, are lies.) 

An acute case of early morning dehydration is what pulls Sakusa out of his slumber and into his living room around the 3 o’clock hour, where he finds that Atsumu is not asleep, no. He sits up on the couch, knees pulled into his chest, staring into the dull reflection of the coffee table that lies in front of him. 

“Why are you still awake?” - A question that comes against his better judgment. 

Distant eyes meet his charcoal orbs. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

Another sigh. Has he been sighing a lot?

“I have chamomile tea, if you want.”

The confusion that fills Atsumu’s features tells Sakusa that the concepts don’t click. 

“It should help you fall asleep.”

“Ah,” a gentle hum. “Sure. Thanks.”

Four, no, five clear ice cubes in a tall glass. Semi-circles, reminiscent of grins and half moon eye smiles. Eight, no, nine seconds and the water hits a satisfactory level. Luke warm against freezing, tentatively approaching a consensus of a general cold. 

Atsumu continues his staring contest with the coffee table. Can he see himself in it? Or maybe, the window provides a view of the city lights that shine in the distance. Or maybe, from where he’s sitting, he can only see the ceiling. Sakusa has never thought the ceiling to be so interesting. Interesting. 

The cry of the teapot pulls him away from the thought. A simple mug, a souvenir from L.A. when he had gone during off season his sophomore year in college. A bag of chamomile, and water up three quarters of the way. 

“Ya never asked me what happened,” Atsumu says as Sakusa places the steaming mug on a coaster. 

“Didn’t want to,” the answer is simple. “Did you want me to?” 

“No.”

(One, or both of these, are lies.) 

Sakusa finishes his glass of water as Atsumu gingerly blows steam off the surface of the tea. He sets his path back to the comfort of his room and the warmth of his bed, but is interrupted by the blond. 

“Omi, why did ya do all this?”

Even in the dim lighting of the night, a glimmer of interest is visible. To crush, or not to crush? 

“I didn’t want you to get sick.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Most people would just say thank you, you know.” 

The venom is unintentional. A common slip of the tongue, a defense mechanism. A wall of indifference. 

“It’s just,” the sigh that Atusmu emits catches him off guard. It holds an edge of impatience. “No matter what I do ya just push me away. I thought maybe, if ya did all this, it meant that ya didn’t actually hate me or somethin’.” 

“I don’t push you away,” Sakusa bites, “And I don’t hate you either.”

“Really? So why do I know  _ nothin’  _ about ya? All these years, the training camps, nationals, being on the same  _ damn _ team and yet I barely know thing.” 

“Why do you need to know?” Sakusa is tired. Is this how Atsumu usually treats people who help him? No wonder he’s considered a grade A asshole. “We play well together, that’s all that matters.” 

“But-” 

Atsumu sets the mug down with a little too much force. They both watch as the contents swish back and forth, coming precariously close to the edge, threatening to spill over. Threatening to reveal too much. 

“Never mind. Sorry. I appreciate it.” 

Earlier, Sakusa had unknowingly let Atsumu onto a bridge. A bridge that connects the vast cavern that lies between the rest of the world and Sakusa’s mind. They both know that at any point, Sakusa can draw the bridge, and let Atsumu tumble clumsily back to the other side, or, in a moment like this, let him cross. 

_ Let him cross, let him cross… _

He sits cross legged in the recliner that lies diagonally to the couch. Atsumu’s eyes widen in shock. Sakusa lets out a sigh. 

“What do you want to know?” 

Such a vast question. An endless sky of possibilities, a sea of opportunity, a forest rich with discoveries. 

“I- what?” 

“I hate repeating myself.” 

“I know but are ya serious?” 

“I wouldn’t ask it if I wasn’t.” 

“Geez, Omi. Never a drop of pity for me, huh.”

“I hate pitying people.” 

A grin spreads Atsumu’s face. It’s oddly familiar to Sakusa, it’s an expression he often adorns, an expression that’s been absent since he found him in the afternoon. Distantly, he thinks it’s a good look for the blond. Beaming, that is. And even more distantly, Sakusa is happy the smile has returned. 

“There ya go, Omi. I just learned somethin’ new about ya.” 

“Congratulations,” the eye roll is out of habit, but Sakusa doesn’t truly mean it. 

“Okay, what else, what else…” Atsumu looks out into that sea of wonder that is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Sakusa’s always personally thought that such a sea would drown the average person, but Atsumu looks at it as though it’s a challenge, as though he’s ready to dive in at the drop of the hat. 

And, he supposes, the hat is dropped. 

“Maybe ya should just give me yer whole life story, Omi.” He chuckles. A pretty sound, light hearted. 

“Only if you tell me yours.” 

A raised brow tells Sakusa that Atsumu finds this response suprising. “Do ya actually want to know?” 

Sakusa shrugs. “Sure. Don’t you want me to know?”

Atsumu looks into his tea, taking a sip before speaking. “Yea, actually.” 

(Neither of these are lies.) 

And so, like this, does Miya Atsumu take the dive. Sakusa Kiyoomi, however, doesn’t realize that he takes one too. A similar sea of unknown, a more familiar, carefully constructed bridge crossed as well. 

  
  
  


Together, maybe, they’ll begin to map out each other's stars. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. 
> 
> I'd love to hear any feedback/thoughts/opinions that you have! all comments/kudos are highly appreciated <3
> 
> (also feel free to yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/new_lei01))


End file.
